Meow Mix
by Akiko Keeper of Sheep
Summary: "I don't care if it's a cat thing. I just stepped on a cheeseburger he left on our bedroom floor. That's not normal." In which Kitty!Micky and his three Pup!friends learn to live together, resist the urge to chase small animals, and avoid hairballs. Friend!ship, AU, catboy/dogboy
1. It Shows

Meow Mix

Tail #1: It Shows

"Micky!"

Perched easily on the second floor railing, the owner of the name grinned slowly. "Yes, dear?"

Davy appeared just beneath him, arms crossed, glowering up at his feline housemate dangerously. "Don't even try that innocent act, Micky. You know what you did."

"Do I?" Stretching languidly, Micky lay along the railing, propping his head up on one fist. The diminutive terrier growled in response, prompting Micky's grin to curl wider.

"Don't be such a stereotype," he snorted, ears pricking towards the rumbling.

"Then don't leave fucking cheeseburgers lying everywhere for me to step on," Davy replied, lifting a hand and waving the slightly-squashed food item in Micky's general direction.

The curly-mopped Kit frowned suddenly, the tip of his tail twitching as he folded his arms, resting his chin on them and staring at the wall, seemingly engrossed with nothing. "'S not for you," he groused, pouting. His cheeks flushed a bit when Davy's eyebrows shot upwards and the Brit smirked a bit.

"Oh? Then who-"

"Oh, hey, thanks!" A hand reached out, snatching the flattened burger from Davy's grasp. Turning, Davy regarded Peter quizzically.

"Uh, Pete…"

Unwrapping the sandwich, Peter shoved about half of it in his mouth, tail wagging happily. He tilted his head, ears perked, and did his best to smile at Micky despite his bulging cheeks. "Fhnggshg Mighih," he mumbled through the mouthful.

Micky watched, his expression that particular mix of incredulity and affection that all of them wore around Peter, as the greyhound continued to scarf the offering. When the blonde was done, tongue sticking out comically to the side to try to lick up a bit of ketchup on his cheek, Micky slid off the railing with a roll of his eyes and retreated to the room he shared with Michael. Davy noted as he went that the back of his neck was flushed just like his cheeks had been.

Blinking, Davy looked from the closed door to Peter and back again. "What on earth was that all about?"

"It's a cat thing," Peter said simply, licking whatever remained of the melty cheese and grease from his fingers.

Davy regarded his roommate. Peter had, upon welcoming the Kit into the Pad, made a point to find out as much as he could about feline behavior so as to make the Siamese as comfortable as possible. Personally, Davy didn't hold much with the way some of their kind obsessed over animal instincts and dispositions. Yes, he was certain that part of who he was influenced by the Manchester terrier curling around in his DNA, but he was also human, and the idea of not only giving yourself over to base instinct, but using it as an excuse, just rankled.

"I don't care if it's a cat thing. I just stepped on a cheeseburger he left on our bedroom floor. That's not normal."

"What's not normal?" Mike queried as he came in from the back.

"Micky's not normal."

Mike snorted. "And this is news?"

Peter pursed his lips. "Davy's upset because he accidentally stepped on the burger Micky left me."

"It was on the floor," the tambourinist moaned, suppressing a small whine. "Who leaves food on the floor for people?"

"Well," Mike said in the reasonable tone of one who had never had to deal with slipping on fast food, "I'm not all that surprised Micky did. It's a cat thing." Off of Davy's narrow-eyed look, Mike raised his hands defensively. "It's a nice thing, a way for him to let Peter know that he cares enough to help him feed himself. Cats - real cats - bring their family members dead animals sometimes, you know? It's like that."

"Ugh."

"Basically," Mike continued, leaning back against the staircase, "Micky's saying, 'Pete, I love ya, but you're obviously too incompetent to feed yourself, so I'll do it for you.' Which is about as close as cats get to complimenting someone."

Peter nodded enthusiastically, his smile bright. Davy could only shake his head.

"Cats," he sighed, long-suffering and resigned. "Gotta love 'em, I suppose."

"Yeah," Mike replied with a slow grin. "Otherwise, they'll make sure you regret it."

End Tail #1


	2. The Ears Have It

Meow Mix

Tail #2: The Ears Have It

"I'm headin' out to sign us up for that competition in Santa Barbara, guys - anyone want to ride along?"

Davy looked up from the magazine he'd been flipping through, boredom suddenly replaced by excitement at Mike's offer. "I'm up for a drive," he replied, hopping up and grabbing his jacket, not even bothering to try to still his tail.

He loved going driving with Michael. They always had the best conversations, and if Davy happened to spot a pretty girl, Mike was the only one of his housemates he could trust to bugger off for a few hours to give him some alone time with her. Peter was too interested in making a new friend, and Micky…well, Micky could never just do what you asked him to. It was always a production with that guy.

"Pick up some new magazines while you're out," said drummer was shouting after them. "Blonde!"

Mike rolled his eyes as he slid into the GTO, casting Davy an amused glance as the smaller man settled in. "I say we come back with a stack of Cat Fancy, just to piss him off," the Texan said a bit loudly, knowing full well that their feline friend would hear.

Sure enough, a paper plate sailed out of the nearest open window, hitting Davy in the side of the head and bouncing off. "Oy," he shouted. "I didn't say it!" He grumbled a bit, rubbing at his ear as Peter bounded out the door and snatched up the plate.

"Throw it again, Micky! Really high - bet I can catch it!"

"Oh, god," Davy groaned, letting his head fall back against the headrest. "Go, Mike. Just…just go, quick, before Micky gets out that tennis ball cannon he's been working on."

Mike did as asked, but couldn't hide his goofy grin at the thought of Micky firing tennis balls across the beach for Peter. At least, he hoped the drummer would think to move the cannon out of doors. One never knew with Micky. Half the time, his canine housemates would swear he knocked things over just to hear them break.

The less said about the things he blew up, the better.

The pair rode in companionable silence for a while, windows rolled down and radio cranked up as high as they could stand. When 'Bold As Love' came on, they sang along, Davy obediently miming the guitar while Mike vocalized it at the top of his voice. They didn't even stop when, at a red light, they caught sight of two very lovely ladies watching them from the curb with incredulous expressions. Davy simply grinned, adding a bit of flair to his air guitar as Mike joined in, taking over the position of air bassist with verve. The taller man made faces at the girls, who tittered into their hands delicately.

Then the light turned green and, girls giggling after them, the pair took off again.

The concert hall was a fairly swanky one, actually, and their good moods continued to hold out. Davy took an instant dislike to the organizer, though, who smiled indulgently at them and offered to buy them lunch.

"We'd really rather not," Mike replied quietly, filling out the application and handing the clipboard back.

"Well, at least let me help you boys with gas money."

Mike repeated his response, adding a bit of bite to it, and the man backed off.

"How d'you like that?" Davy huffed as he slumped down in the passenger seat. "Like we can't feed ourselves."

"He was just tryin' to be friendly, Davy," Mike replied pragmatically, although Davy could detect a note of dissatisfaction in his voice.

It continued to niggle at Davy, which was perhaps why, when he saw it, he wasn't able to just let it roll off his back as usual.

They were at another stoplight, the radio now quiet and the pair of them subdued, when a family of three crossed the street in front of them.

They were Pups, like Davy and Mike, but they or their families had gone a few steps further than either of the musicians' - they had opted for as much canid in their DNA as the law would allow. Facial features, fur, the whole deal. Boxers, Davy noted absently. The parents' ears were cropped, which didn't bother Davy so much, despite the fact that the entire practice of chopping off bits of yourself for aesthetic purposes creeped him out.

What bothered him was the child - probably four or five. Her ears were cropped, as well, and as they passed, he could see that all three had docked tails.

He hadn't even noticed himself growling, but Mike did, and the older man turned to him with a raised eyebrow. "Somethin' wrong, there, Tiny?"

"Wrong? Mike, did you not see that kid? What the hell kind of parent just goes around mutilating their children?" Pressing back against the seat, Davy shifted enough to run a finger along the end of his own tail. "I mean, fuck, Mike, doesn't it piss you off? Especially after what those doctors did to your tail-"

"Yeah, well, they were bigoted jackasses, Davy."

"Oh, and doing it out of love is so much better?" Davy picked at the seat with his nails, but even the sight of those, tough and black and distinctly inhuman, made him angry. "It's barbaric, Mike. There should be laws against it."

"Davy…" Mike sighed.

"No, I'm sorry. It's just…" Running a hand through his hair, Davy turned his face to the window, watching the scenery blur past. "Usually, I'm pretty good about pretending none of this exists."

"None of what?"

"This!" Gesturing to his own button ears, Davy rolled his eyes. "I mean, come on, Mike. We're freaks. You know that's why that stupid competition bigwig was grinning at us and offering to buy us food - he looks down on us. He's stereotyped us, just like every other fucking person in the world. And usually, I can pretend it doesn't bother me. I can forget about the bits of me that aren't human. But then I see people like that family, and I just…ugh." Slumping against the window frame, Davy let his eyes slide shut.

There was a long silence, blossoming out between them and filling the car, broken only by the tinny whisper of John Lennon singing about Strawberry Fields. Inhaling deeply, Davy willed the Californian summer air to calm the angry pulse in his throat.

"Okay. You want to know what I think?"

"Don't I always?"

Mike glanced at Davy out of the corner of his eye, but the terrier was too absorbed in watching the outside world to notice. "I think you're full of shit."

Snorting, Davy wriggled down until he could rest his head on the window frame. "That's nice."

"No, man, I don't…I just think the problem here isn't what you think of docking. It's what you think of yourself." Davy didn't answer, so Mike pressed on. "Look, babe, I just think that…well…it's just that you are what you are, okay? And maybe there are bits of yourself that you don't like, but that don't mean they aren't there or that you can just…"

Mike sighed through his nose, ears drooping a bit as he took a moment to think.

"Look, when it comes right down to it, yeah, you're human. But you're also a Pup. And none of that means fucking anything, because, Davy, you're my goddamn best friend. And it ain't because I like your genes, and it ain't because I like parts of you well enough to ignore the parts I don't like, because you ain't you without all your bits, okay? You're David goddamn Jones, all of you, every part of you, and without every one of those parts, well, you wouldn't be you, now, would you? So maybe it's time you stop worrying about which bits make which people think what about you, and start rememberin' that the most important bit of you, your heart…well, that ain't human or Pup. That's just Davy."

Davy squeezed his eyes shut and let Mike's words do what the California air couldn't. When he was sure his eyes weren't wet and his voice wasn't thick with emotion, he turned to Mike and smiled.

"You're my best friend, too, Mike."

Mike grinned back and turned up the radio as 'Funky Broadway' started to play. This time, Davy took the air drums, and they sang the whole way home.

End Tail #2


	3. Another Little Piece Of My Heart

Tail #3: Another Little Piece Of My Heart

The first time anyone brought up Mike's tail (specifically the lack thereof) had also, for the most part, been the last.

It had been Davy who'd asked, which had surprised Mike. He would have guessed it would have been Peter or Micky. Neither of them were known for their tact, for fairly different reasons, but they'd looked so genuinely surprised when Davy'd mentioned it, Mike would have bet money neither of them had ever even noticed.

But Davy had asked, and now they did notice, and they'd all three looked at him with those damned earnest, caring faces. So he'd told them about how his mother had been single, and human. He'd told them about how the doctors, upon seeing him, had swept him from the room. He'd recounted Aunt Kate's tale of how, as soon as she'd noticed him missing, she had disguised herself as a nurse and burst in on the doctors just as they'd finished suturing up the gaping wound where his tail had been. He'd explained about how she'd "kidnapped" him before they could get at his ears.

Davy had spent most of the explanation growling low in his throat, nails scraping at the upholstery of the armchair as he tried to contain himself. A glance at Micky had showed a rare stillness, save for the agitated flicking of the feline's own tail, and hot fury in his odd, golden eyes.

"Aw, Mike," Peter had said softly, his voice oddly thick. Three heads had whipped around, horrified, to stare at their sensitive friend.

Peter had been huddled on the couch, tears staining his cheeks, snuffling quietly as he hugged his knees.

"N-no, aw, no, Shotgun, don't…it's not-"

"Miiii-hiiii-hiiiiike," Peter had wailed, launching himself from the couch to wrap his arms around the Texan's middle, grasping the back of his shirt as he whined pathetically. The sound had squeezed Mike's heart uncomfortably, and he'd looked to his companions for help.

Micky, the little snot, had just shrugged at him helplessly, eyes wide and ears dipping a bit anxiously to the sides. Sliding off the back of the couch, the Kit had inched forward, crouched down, and bumped his nose hesitantly against Peter's side. It had only made Peter wail louder and grasp tighter, and Micky's shoulders had slumped.

"Wh-why…why would they d-do thaaaa-haaaa-haaaat," Peter had whimpered, pressing his cheek against Mike's stomach. "S-so mean…s-stealing your t- your taaaaiiil!"

"Now, come on, kiddo, it's not all that bad," Mike had reasoned. "They didn't know they were doin' something' wrong, y'know? And I never would've even known I'd had a tail if Aunt Kate hadn't brought it up - not like I miss it or anything."

Davy had snorted, an ugly, angry sound, but Peter's sobs had sniveled down to quiet hiccups, and Mike had been able to pry him off and nod to Micky. The feline had, for once, done as Mike had wordlessly requested, clambering to Peter's side and cuddling him determinedly, throwing in a bit of a purr as the greyhound's lower lip continued to quiver.

It was about two weeks thereafter that, despite thinking the whole subject was permanently closed, Mike was confronted by Peter. No one had said one word about Mike's tail, probably for fear of setting their soft-hearted friend off, so it took him a while to understand just why Peter was thrusting a long, squishy package wrapped in newspaper at him as he reclined on the somewhat-not-as-comfy-as-usual couch.

"It's a present for you," Peter mumbled, cheeks going a bit pink.

Micky and Davy, bickering on the bandstand, quieted down to watch the display curiously. Going a bit pink under their scrutiny, Mike reached out and took the package. As he did, though, he noticed several Band-Aids wrapped clumsily around the blonde's fingertips. He set the package aside and grasped at Peter's wrists, concern overwhelming whatever bewilderment he'd been feeling.

"Peter, what the hell happened to your hands?"

"W-well, I was making something, and I kinda poked myself a few times. It's okay, though," he reassured the bristling rottweiler. "I made sure to put some mercurochrome on them and I put bandages right on. Doesn't even hurt a little bit," he finished, wiggling his fingers and smiling brightly.

Sighing, Mike released him and sat back, reaching again for the present. "Okay, then, Shotgun. What's this?"

"Open it!"

Mike did so carefully, folding aside the newspaper to reveal a long, plush, black…sword?

Peter clasped his hands behind his back, staring at the floor. "See…see, Mike, when you were telling us about your tail, you wouldn't look at us. And, y'know, you never look at us when you're talking about stuff that upsets you, 'cuz you don't want us to see that it upsets you, 'cuz you don't want to upset us. So…I kinda figured you were probably really sad about your tail getting stolen. So…so I made you a new one."

Mike blinked up at Peter, then back at the manufactured tail. It was about as long as his forearm, and curved like a saber to a point. It was made of felt, awfully lumpy, and badly stitched together - Mike could see bits of what looked like cushion padding poking out between stitches in places. Well, that certainly explained why the couch cushion had seemed much less cushion-y of late. At the thicker end, there was a safety pin, presumably for attachment to the back of his trousers.

He looked back up at Peter, who hadn't looked up once, and was now scritching at the floorboards with his toenails. "I know it's probably not as nice as your old tail," Peter mumbled, "but…I tried my best. So…so you can be not sad about it now."

"No, Peter," Mike rasped, setting the stuffed tail down reverently and standing up. He drew his friend to him and hugged him tightly. "No, Peter, it's the very best tail ever. Even better than my old one."

Peter relaxed against him, and Mike could see Micky, grasping at his ride cymbal and pressing his forehead against it to hide his face, and Davy, who had turned his back to the two of them and was hugging his tambourine. He couldn't tell if they were laughing or crying, but he could see their shoulders shaking, and he assumed it was probably both - he couldn't really figure out which he felt like doing, either.

"So," Peter said as he pulled away, smiling beatifically, "I did okay?"

"Yeah, Peter. You did great."

"I made it so you could wear it," Peter explained as Mike picked the tail back up. "I guess you should only wear it in the house, though, and put it somewhere safe the rest of the time. It would be awful if someone stole it again," he finished with a quavery whisper, eyes wide and wet at the idea of someone taking another tail from Mike.

And Mike did put it away, in the bottom drawer of his dresser where he kept his letters from home and the little bits and pieces he'd collected since he'd moved into the Pad. The broken tooth Davy had given him when they'd met, taken off the floor of the bar they'd been scrapping together in; the drawings Peter had done of them, family portraits for those who couldn't afford a camera; the tiny mechanical guitar player Micky had built him that played 'I've Got A Tiger By The Tail' when he wound it up. He nestled his new tail - lovingly re-wrapped - amongst all of it and stared down at it with a smile. Then, closing the drawer, he sighed.

It wouldn't really replace the piece of him those doctors had taken, but it fit perfectly in the tail-shaped hole in his heart. He wondered if, one of these days, his newfound family would be able to fit all those missing pieces back in.

End Tail #3


End file.
